


Touch 'n' Tell

by apollojusticeforall



Series: Tactile [3]
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Bones swears a lot (as he should), Communication Issues, M/M, touch as a love language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:41:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25319968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apollojusticeforall/pseuds/apollojusticeforall
Summary: Spock loved to argue.
Relationships: Leonard "Bones" McCoy/Spock
Series: Tactile [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1812097
Comments: 20
Kudos: 115





	Touch 'n' Tell

**Author's Note:**

> This one rolls right out of the previous work, but it can also be read as a one-shot.

Spock loved to argue. He could debate anything. Literally anything. He needed to have the last word in everything. 

Sulu would report “That object is twenty-two meters off our starboard side, sir,” and Spock would correct him with “Actually, that object is twenty-two-point-seven-nine-two-three-five-eight-eight meters, Lieutenant, I wish you would be more precise.”

Or Chekov would say something like “Zis planet hez totally breathable atmosphere, vhy can’t ve send our landing party down?” and Spock would say “We need to account for the radiation coming from the planet’s sun before taking unnecessary risks with our crewmembers, Ensign.”

Or Scotty would tell him “We cannae possibly go any faster on these engines, we’ll overheat ‘em in no time!” and Spock would reply “You should route impulse power through the back of (some engine tube or other), as that will boost our speed and energy efficiency by forty-point-nine-six-six-eight-nine-two percent, Engineer.”

Or Uhura would translate an incoming hailing message and then Spock would be all . . . well, he never actually argued with Uhura. He just told her what a brilliant linguist she was and complimented her on her report.

So really, the point is, it wasn’t Leonard’s fault that they argued all the time. Sure, Spock always relayed his unnecessary citation list of scientific facts with an air of informatory politeness, but that didn’t mean Leonard couldn’t call him out on his bullshit once in a while. Or maybe more like once a day.

When it started—the senseless bickering, that is—Leonard participated because the stiff-necked science officer annoyed him, what with his calculations and theories and goddamn _logic_ . Man claimed to not have any emotions, so Leonard started needling him any chance he got, to try and get a rise out of him, just to prove that he _could_. Sure, it was petty as hell, but for the most part, he didn’t mean anything by it.

It was just that damn Vulcan philosophy about “strict logic” and “purging emotion.” It didn’t take a psych degree to know that emotional repression wasn’t healthy for any species, no matter how much meditation one committed to. He tried to respect Spock’s beliefs, he really did, but it was so hard to accept when a man so committed to the sanctity of the scientific method kept trying and trying at something that clearly _didn’t work_. 

Emotional control, his ass. He saw it every time Jim pulled some harebrained scheme that landed him in danger, and the entire time Spock had to assume command he kept his jaw clenched. He saw it when the tips of his ears darkened when someone teased him. He saw it when his mouth softened into a barely-disguised almost-smile wherever he and Uhura went on one of their music geek rants, or when Chekov correctly identified the interstellar phenomenon of the day and Spock’s eyes gleamed with something that looked pretty damn close to pride.

Spock’s whole face changed any time he looked at Jim, like someone striking a match in a pitch black room, and it was so _obvious_ that it always baffled Leonard anytime he claimed to adhere to his precious teachings of “resisting the temptations of emotional influences.”

So part of it was curiosity—how far could he push him before he finally just admitted it—but the other part was that Leonard liked winning, almost as much as Spock did. Unlike his Vulcan opponent though, he wasn’t opposed to playing a bit dirty if it meant proving a point, and he had made an important discovery about the _Enterprise’s_ First Officer.

Not many crewmembers touched Spock; in fact, most of them seemed like they tried to avoid him. Jim touched Spock a lot, but Jim treated everyone like that, and besides, Spock already looked at Jim like he was the centerpiece of the universe, so Leonard didn’t weigh those encounters too heavily in his data.

But he noticed when Uhura would link her arm through Spock’s while they walked, Spock would lean towards her ever so slightly. If she touched his hands, he would freeze like a loading screen on an ancient Terran computer, and it would take him a few seconds before he re-engaged with the conversation. Or if Chekov ever ran into him or Scotty nudged him with an elbow, Spock would blink, very slowly, and there’d be a noticeable pause before he responded to their question.

To borrow a word, fascinating.

So he started running his own experiments, so to speak. He (literally) bumped into Spock whenever he got the chance, which was quite often. Leonard didn’t realize how often he already touched Spock until he started doing it on purpose. His favorite was standing right next to Spock and waiting for the other man to move and collide with him. Most of the time, Spock didn’t react any way out of the ordinary, and he thought that maybe it was just him. He and Spock didn’t always get along, to put it mildly, and maybe Spock only reacted strangely to people he actually liked. Or maybe Leonard had been doing it for so long that Spock was already used to his bumbling physical gestures.

Although Spock was undoubtedly the most stubborn person aboard the _Enterprise_ , Leonard came pretty close behind. So when increasing the frequency of contact didn’t work, he introduced an additional variable.

He began with Spock’s arms, grabbing him around the _brachioradialis_ , stopping him in the hallway with a touch to his _biceps brachii_ , any and every type of casual contact he could think of. As an attention grabber, Leonard didn’t find any results different to what he normally expected when he tapped someone on the shoulder. He learned it was more effective in the middle of conversation. They would be bickering about the latest medical anomaly (because Spock just always had to try to show Leonard up in his own damn field, the arrogant prick), and as soon as Leonard put a hand on his arm, he was suddenly able to talk for more than three words without Spock cutting him off to protest the “illogical nature of the findings.” 

As his little experiment progressed, he worked his way down. Past Spock’s elbow, over the _extensor carpi radialis_ , down the _flexor carpi radialis_ , towards the _extensor pollicis_. 

The first time he grabbed Spock’s wrist (bio lab, quibbling over the resulting color of an Andorian’s fluid pack), Spock gasped. Not just a small inhale either, but the kind of sound someone makes after they’ve been resuscitated from drowning. Leonard was so startled, he momentarily forgot his side of the argument. He launched back into a scalding remark about the size of Spock’s ears taking away valuable space from the rest of his senses, but there was a significant moment before Spock was able to fire back his retort.

Fascinating indeed.

Spock’s distress over the matter also wasn’t Leonard’s fault. The bastard wouldn’t tell him anything himself, so Leonard resorted to grilling M’Benga for an explanation on touch telepathy.

When he asked, M’Benga sighed. “Vulcans have general telepathic abilities, but they’re enhanced through physical contact with the subject.”

Leonard squinted at the other doctor, who he had cornered after a tedious round of physicals. “Are you saying that whenever Spock touches someone, he can read all their thoughts?”

M’Benga kept glancing at his PADD, looking like he would rather be doing paperwork than having this conversation. “No, the extent of telepathic abilities varies depending on the person. All Vulcans receive training on controlling their telepathy and on mind-shielding techniques to protect their thoughts from other telepaths and prevent them from hearing the thoughts of every other being they encounter. Due to their enhanced touch telepathy though, their society has stricter social norms around physical contact between people. It’s generally not allowed. That’s why you don’t see Vulcans shaking hands.”

“Spock shakes people’s hands.”

M’Benga shrugged. “He has lived most of his adult life around humans. We consider certain gestures to be diplomatically required and rude if not reciprocated. It doesn’t mean he enjoys it when people touch him.”

Leonard frowned. “Well, I bump into Spock all the time and he never seems to mind.”

M’Benga picked up his PADD and pointedly started walking back to his office. “I may have spent my internship on Vulcan, but that does not make me an expert on Spock’s specific psyche. If you're just trying to feed your obsession, leave me out of it. Better yet, why don’t you just ask him yourself.”

“Now, wait a minute, I don’t—”

“If you’ll excuse me, I really must fill out these reports.” M’Benga made his escape before Leonard could scrape together some semblance of his dignity.

Nurse Chapel, who had been conveniently rearranging the supplies cabinet, snickered.

“Got somethin’ to add?”

She looked over her shoulder at him as if just realizing he was there. “Who me? I didn’t say anything.”

“Yeah, but I know what you’re thinking.”

“Oh, I’m not judging you, Leonard. Mr. Spock is very handsome, after all. And that stone-faced mystique he keeps up really does add to his sex appeal.” She fluttered her eyelashes obnoxiously.

“Shut up, Christine. I thought you were dating Nyota?”

“She understands. We’ve talked about it.” Her responding smirk left a few possibilities open for just _what_ it was they had talked about. She finished straightening a line of hypos. “No hard feelings, Doctor. In fact, I wish you luck.”

Leonard threatened to demote her to changing bedsheets with the interns. She laughed at him on her way out of the room.

* * *

It took nearly another year for Spock to tell him that it was different when Leonard touched him. What he had actually said was that Leonard’s “overwhelming concoction of chaotic human emotionalism” distracted and confused him, but Leonard knew him well enough by then to piece together that this was Spock’s awkward way of talking about his own feelings without having to admit that he had feelings. 

It took him a bit longer to figure out that Spock actually liked being touched, and he especially liked it when _Leonard_ touched him, because of course Spock couldn’t make it easy and just _say_ that. So Leonard did what he did best—followed an emotional hunch and let his hands do the talking, and Jesus, it had never been so satisfying to be right.

He had then dragged Spock into the nearest supply closet and did more talking with his hands than he had in years, and it should’ve been weird, touching Spock like that when most of the time he wasn’t sure if the other man even tolerated him, much less _liked_ him, but it wasn’t weird, and _holy hell_ , Spock’s mouth was good for a whole lot more than reciting decimal points.

The weirdest part was that after that, nothing really changed. They still worked in the lab together, still both kept Jim from running his stupid sacrificial stunt of the week, and they still bickered about anything and everything that was ever discussed in their presence. Things between them were the same as ever—except now most of their “arguments” ended with a lot more physical contact back in somebody’s quarters. Christine had started wiggling her eyebrows whenever they got into it in sick bay, and Leonard told her he was gonna make her hand count each crewmember’s vitamin doses if she kept that up.

He wasn’t shy about using his new knowledge on how Spock responded to touch to his every advantage. Spock being particularly stubborn in pushing one of his theories? Leonard would stop him with a hand on his shoulder so he could voice his side. Spock lecturing him on the impracticalities of making judgments on instinct instead of concrete scientific evidence? Leonard would slide two fingers along the back of Spock’s hand and watch as he struggled to keep his face neutral. Tempers burning a little too hot? Leonard would plant a kiss right on the center of Spock’s nose, and he would blink, like a cat. Spock would eventually recover and continue insisting upon whatever previous point he had been arguing for, but even if Spock proved his case “logically,” they both knew that Leonard had already won.

Touch didn’t become just another way to win their squabbles though, it became a new language. For all the times he accused Spock of being unable to talk about his feelings, Leonard had never considered himself very articulate on the subject either. Just because he _had_ a lot of emotions didn’t mean he was good at _explaining_ them. He was better with things he could do with his hands, like surgery or setting broken bones, fixing people’s physical injuries. Talking things through was the hard part, but their interactions started to improve when Leonard found that he could tell Spock things without actually having to say them.

Most of their conversational lines still ended on a shallow insult, but sometimes they would get carried away. Leonard could tell he’d crossed a line when the corners of Spock’s mouth tightened past the point of pleasant neutrality. Leonard never pointed it out to him, but he would place a hand on Spock’s shoulder and feel Spock’s posture relax even as they continued arguing. _I’m sorry for being a jerk._ Or Spock would do something dumb like push him out of the way of a plant that shoots poisonous darts and get shot himself, and Leonard would berate him for being clumsy, but press his concern into his chest through the pads of his fingers. _Please don’t die on me._ Spock’s control always faltered worst when Jim was in danger (which was prone to happen far too often for the captain of Starfleet’s prized flagship), and he got extra snippy not only at Leonard, but at the rest of the crew. Leonard would yell at him to cool his head, but wrap a hand around Spock’s wrist. _I’m worried about him, too._

Spock never commented on Leonard’s alternate approach to communicating, but he always seemed to get the message. Leonard supposed it had something to do with his touch telepathy, but even if that did mean Spock could read his thoughts every time he touched him, he really didn’t mind. Leonard was always the type of person to say whatever he was thinking anyway. Well, except the stuff that matters. There were certain things he still couldn’t say to Spock out loud, a couple small words with the biggest meanings imaginable, so he found it comforting that Spock already knew without him having to say it. Of course, Spock never said those words to him either, but somehow, Leonard knew that he meant them, too.

* * *

Just once, _once_ , Leonard wished they could take shore leave somewhere without their vacation spot distorting into a warzone terrorized by ancient weapons. He hated how many planets they went to that seemed to model their government off Earth’s worst tyrants, as if the only ideology remembered about Earth was its violent, oppressive history. If they got the message about the neo-fascists, why couldn’t they also get the message about acceptance of differences and global community? But no. More AK-47s and xenophobia.

Leonard shouldn’t even be down here—it’s not like you need your CMO on every fucking landing party. Some lucky bastard has to be back on the ship to patch everyone up. But Jim had frowned at him and said “but I’ll miss you, Bones,” and god damn him, Leonard still couldn’t say no to that pout.

So that’s how he ended up running through alleyways dodging bullets—actual lead bullets, of all the primitive weapons—from a bunch of hooligans zooming around in Jeeps and pickup trucks. He had lost sight of their esteemed captain over a half hour ago after the side of a building collapsed between them and they were forced to take the long way around. The poor security detail had gotten picked off along the way, and now he was stuck with Spock while they crammed behind a dumpster and waited for the trucks to pass. Being in such close proximity might not have been a bad way to spend their time off, but Leonard would have much preferred it somewhere they weren’t in danger of getting shot at.

Leonard leaned his head against the brick at their backs. “Come to Icor IX, they said. Paradise of the ancient world, they said. If this is supposed to be paradise, I don’t want to know what these people think an actual war looks like.” 

“We are hardly equipped to pass judgement upon another civilization with different values than the ones we deem proper.” Spock’s voice was as measured as always, no trace of fatigue or even distress.

“I didn’t ask for a fucking philosophy lesson. Besides, there are some truths that _should_ transcend all peoples, like love thy neighbor, or maybe a value for life forms in general.” Leonard was tired and cranky, and if there was one universal constant it was that he and Spock would always find something to bicker about, even at the worst possible time. Their new . . . whatever they were hadn’t seemed to change that.

“I agree.”

Almost three and a half years in space together and it still surprised Leonard every time Spock agreed with him. Leonard was usually right, mind you, but it was like pulling teeth to get him to say it, and Leonard had yanked on so many molars he believed he deserved his dentistry certification. 

Spock scanned the street from their hiding spot. “To borrow one of your colorful human expressions, I believe the ‘coast is clear.’” He stood and walked out of the alley.

Leonard trotted up beside him. He lightly knocked Spock’s arm with his elbow. “That makes it one of your colorful expressions, too y’know.”

Spock’s mouth tightened in one of those rare almost-smiles. “I suppose I have absorbed some of your odder human qualities through overexposure.”

Spock’s expression was contagious, and Leonard grinned back. He’d gotten more almost-smiles out of Spock in the past month than he’d ever seen, now that he knew the right buttons to push. 

Before Leonard could think of a witty reply, an explosion roared behind them, tearing up the block in a shockwave of shattering glass. Another Jeep careened around the corner. The _rat-tat-tat_ of machine gun fire blazing out the windows reminded him of uncomfortable times on that 1920s Chicago gangsters planet. 

Spock slammed into him, shoving them both out of the street as the car barreled towards them. Its passengers were yelling something indiscernible, but the tone definitely insinuated some form of insult against off-worlders. They tumbled and rolled through potholes, and Leonard jammed his elbow into the ground, ripping up a surface patch of skin. Spock landed on top of him and then rolled further onto the sidewalk.

The Jeep whizzed by. He wasn’t sure if the occupants even saw them or if they didn’t actually care whether they hit them or not. “Fucking maniacs,” he growled. He craned his neck to check the patch of ripped skin on the back of his arm. It didn’t look too bad, nothing a quick swipe of a regenerator wouldn’t fix. God, if only he had his medkit. The damn strap snapped ten blocks back and now was lost to the mercy of this planet of lunatics. Starfleet should really make those things sturdier. Or maybe hotshot captains shouldn’t drag their CMOs down to every fucking backwater planet they visit. 

He pushed up to his knees and looked over at Spock, still leaning against the wall from where he had rolled, almost like he had decided now would be a good time to curl up and take a nap.

“Spock, come on, we gotta keep moving. Jim is god-knows-where and we gotta catch him before he goes and gets himself killed.” He grabbed Spock’s side and turned him over.

Spock’s glassy eyes slid right over him. His breath came out in shallow wheezes.

Leonard looked down at his hand, saw it was stained green.

_Shit_ . That was blood, _Spock’s_ blood. _Dammit_.

He swore out loud, then slapped his palm back down onto Spock’s chest. The side of his tunic was smeared with an aquamarine color that was rapidly spreading.

_Shit shit shit_. It felt like one of the bullets from the trigger-happy locals had buried itself right below the top of his ribcage. Leonard pressed down on his pectoral, trying to get a sense of where exactly the bullet hit and if it had exploded when it slammed into bone or if it was still intact somewhere. Jesus, why didn’t he have a scanner.

Spock hissed between his teeth. “Doctor, I should not have to remind you of the direness of our situation. We should—”

“Shut up, Spock. You’re fucking bleeding. Now let me do my goddamn job and keep you alive.” His words were short and clipped, but he could feel panic start to bubble in his throat. It wasn’t as if this was the first time Spock had almost died saving his life, but somehow that didn’t give him any comfort.

Spock weakly lifted a hand and grabbed his wrist. Leonard looked at him in surprise, on his face it probably appeared more like a glare. Spock’s fingers tightened, but his eyelids started to droop. “Leonard, if you—”

“I’m not leaving you here, so don’t even say it.” His stomach did a funny flip whenever Spock said his name, but he couldn’t be doing that _now_ , dammit.

Spock’s grip loosened and his eyes shut. He sagged back onto the ground.

Leonard smacked the side of his face. “Oh no you don’t. Come on, stay awake for me here.” Spock’s eyes slitted open again. “That’s it. Just breathe, okay? Come on.”

The rumble of another truck ricocheted down the street. Leonard’s head snapped up, and he squinted at the oncoming dust cloud.

“Dammit.” He looked back down at Spock, whose face looked paler than he had ever seen, but at least his eyes were still open, completely black and boring into him. 

Leonard shifted and set his hands under Spock’s armpits, careful to avoid his wound. Then with a grunt, he lifted him and dragged him back into the alley.

Spock shouted, his face scrunched in pain.

“I know, I know,” Leonard heaved, hauling Spock further away from the street. He tried to lower him as gently as he could, but Spock still groaned when his head hit the pavement.

He pushed his palm into Spock’s side again, as if hoping to clot the wound through pressure and will-power alone. Good god, this couldn’t be happening. Blasted Starfleet medkits, never around when he _actually_ needed one. Spock’s blood pulsed between his fingers, staining his hand and Spock’s heartbeat was growing fainter and why didn’t he know what to _do_ and—

The clamor from the trucks grew closer. They had to be only a block away now.

Their eyes met through the alley’s shadows. Spock’s sharp features were contorted with more emotion than his usual blank expression, pain and concern and something else that had never been named between them, but he said nothing.

Leonard didn’t say anything either. He couldn’t, not when he felt like he was choking on his own tongue. There was a lot he felt he should say, should probably apologize, for one, even if he wasn’t sure what he should be apologizing for (he knew there was probably something, he always felt like he should be apologizing to Spock). He should say something about how he felt, but Leonard had always been jaded when it came to romantic confessions, and they didn’t have the time to have that complicated conversation. So they just sat there, staring at each other.

The trucks stopped with a screech. They heard the people get out, boots stomping against the pavement. There was shouting, and something that sounded a lot like . . . phaser fire?

Footsteps pounded down the alley. Leonard closed his eyes. If this was the end, he at least didn’t want to have to watch.

“Bones!"

Jim was suddenly sprinting towards them, one of his sleeves ripped clean off and another tear exposing his stomach. When he saw Spock lying on the ground, his eyes widened. He dropped to his knees mid-sprint and skidded to a stop beside them, hand immediately latching onto Spock’s arm. “Spock.”

Leonard was so relieved to see him, he might have been crying. He honestly couldn’t tell. “Jim,” his voice was a rasp, “we’ve got to get him back to the ship. Now.”

He watched as Jim’s face morphed from wide-eyed and worried into the sharp angles and set lines of his command persona. It was a fascinating transformation, how Jim could switch his fear off in a snap. Leonard had never envied him more.

Jim flipped his communicator open. “Kirk to _Enterprise_. Three more to beam up immediately. Have medbay on the ready.”

Jim placed a hand on Leonard’s shoulder, but he barely felt it. “It’s alright, Bones. We’ll get you out of here. Both of you.”

The last thing he registered before the glow of the transporter beam overtook them was Spock’s fingers wrapping tightly around his wrist.

* * *

Bullet wounds were much more complicated than phaser burns. Leonard could stitch them back together fine, but he didn’t like to. The thought of something solid like metal shredding through layers of skin and blood vessels and bone never sat right with him, despite how he had seen enough destroyed tissue from all manner of materials to last three lifetimes.

Operating on Spock was tricky because of his confounding Vulcan anatomy (even though Leonard could now draw up a chart identifying the name and position of every organ in both Vulcan and Standard), but it was harder looking at Spock’s unconscious form on his operating table. 

Jim pacing at the foot of Spock’s bed didn’t help either. Twenty minutes of listening to the captain’s shoes squeak on the tile and Leonard snapped at him to either let Chapel fix his bloody knees or get his ass back up to the bridge if he wasn’t gonna do anything useful. Jim started to protest, but he took one look at the hard set of Leonard’s jaw and left the room.

The surgery actually wasn’t that difficult after he stopped thinking of _Spock’s_ body and compartmentalized him into just another patient. It was easier to count the shrapnel he removed when he stopped fixating on whose blood glinted off of each piece. M’Benga helped him close up the major arteries around the heart (a mere five centimeters below where the bullet actually entered, damn Vulcan physiology), and after that the regenerators could do the rest. While the vascular regenerator reformed Spock’s shoulder, he ran a portable dermal over Spock’s knuckles, carefully sweeping each crease of skin until the yellowish bruising faded into his typical tan tones.

After Spock finally slipped into one of his healing trances, M’Benga tried to insist on checking Leonard over, but Leonard refused, saying he’d do it himself when he got the time. That was breaking all sorts of protocol, but M’Benga didn’t comment. He only raised his eyebrows and left to tend to the next unfortunate crewmember they had rescued from that disaster of a planet. Chapel looked at him with pinched brows, but she only squeezed his arm before checking on her own patients. Leonard conveyed his thanks with a pat on her hand. 

He regenerated two broken bones and one concussion, applied over a dozen dermal regenerators, and removed five more bullets. The shards didn’t disturb him as much as the ones he pulled out of Spock, but maybe he was just too used to seeing the color of his own blood.

He had just sat down in his office after regenerating the tendons in Ensign Davidson’s leg when the door swished open. Spock walked in, dressed in a clean, regular science uniform, the color fully returned to the skin on his face.

Leonard looked him over. “You should be resting.”

“I assure you, I am well recovered. The healing trance has done its work in repairing my body functions.” Spock folded his hands behind his back. He stood ramrod straight, as ever, and spoke in such an even voice Leonard would have never been able to tell he had been shot seven hours ago if he hadn’t removed the bullet himself.

He snorted. “Yeah, the healing trance is sure what saved your life.” He rubbed a fist into his weary eyes. It had been a few weeks since he’d had a day of surgeries as long as this one. The image of Spock’s blood between his fingers still lingered behind his eyelids.

“I am well aware of your role in my recovery, Doctor, and have thus come to express my—” Spock shifted “—gratitude.”

Leonard peered at him through his fingers. A needling remark about Spock’s incomprehension of emotional words like gratitude leapt to his tongue, but he bit it back. He was too damn tired to start one of their charades now.

Instead, he sighed. “I know.” He stood and walked around the front of his desk.

As he approached, Spock unclasped his hands and let them dangle at his sides. 

There was a lot Leonard wanted to say, but he didn’t trust himself to say it right, so he resorted to their other channel. “Next time you think of taking a bullet for me, don’t.” He grabbed one of Spock’s elbows, then slid his hand towards his wrist. _You scared the shit of me_.

“I don’t ever wanna have to sew up your twisted, green-blooded anatomy ever again, you hear?” He slipped his hand into Spock’s, rubbed his thumb into the soft spot between Spock’s thumb and first finger. _If you died because I wasn’t able to save you, I couldn’t forgive myself._

“God forbid the _Enterprise_ ever need a new First Officer, though I’ll probably still spend every other week patching together the next noble idiot Jim decides to promote.” He raised Spock’s hand and pressed their palms together, interlacing their fingers. _I really don’t want to lose you._

Spock fixed him with his dark eyes. He didn’t say anything, but something in his gaze gleamed with a raw emotionalism he usually kept closely coiled inside. 

He knew Spock could hear his actual thoughts, and he knew that Spock knew it was okay. He let him in after all. That was how they worked. It wasn’t perfect, but it was theirs.

Spock bent and kissed him. It was soft, nearly chaste. Leonard’s free hand lightly traced Spock’s jaw, letting his touch say everything he couldn’t.

Most of the time when they were together, it was rushed, almost aggressive, grappling with each other for control. As if contending with all the pointless fights they’d constructed as an excuse to work out this tension that had built up between them. The sex was some of the best he’d had in years, but Leonard secretly prefered it like this—slow and sweet, when they took their time with each other, less like conquering and more like exploring. Each touch transmitting a deliberate, intricate meaning in a language he would never be able to translate.

Spock tugged at his hip and pulled him closer, the tops of their thighs pressing together. _I’m still here. I won’t leave_.

Leonard really wanted to drag him back to his quarters so he could _properly_ communicate how he felt, but he still had paperwork to do after a long day. He placed a hand on Spock’s chest to push them apart. _I wish we had longer_. “Suppose we better tell Jim you’re still alive.” He moved his hand down so his pinky brushed over Spock’s freshly healed wound. Spock’s heart beat steadily under his palm.

Spock’s lips quirked up into his almost-smile. “Indeed. He should be most pleased he does not have to find a replacement for me.”

Leonard huffed, but he squeezed his hand one last time before letting go. “Maybe he should replace you anyway. Imagine how our efficiency ratings would increase if you weren’t constantly yammering at the crew over missed protocols.”

“Our efficiency rating is already the highest in the fleet, and if I did not ‘yammer’ at the crew, as you so eloquently put it, your sick bay would be filled with even more workplace accident victims.” Spock raised an eyebrow, but they both already knew they were playing.

Leonard shook his head. “Of all the stuck-up, arrogant, nitpicky, stubborn-minded—”

Spock shut him up with a kiss. It was Leonard’s turn to blink in surprise, whatever tirade he was about to go off on completely forgotten.

“Really, Doctor, you should not be so hard on yourself.” Spock smiled, _actually smiled_ , a full-on, genuine, tooth-showing smile. If he ever told anybody, they wouldn’t believe him, but he thought maybe this was one of those things he wanted to keep for himself. 

Spock ran two fingers over the back of his hand and left. He had explained what the gesture meant before, but all Leonard really understood was the tingling feeling shooting up his arm. A few small words with big meanings that he wasn’t sure either of them would ever say, at least not out loud.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed, come check me out on [tumblr](https://jamestfortitsoutkirk.tumblr.com/) where it's Bones-loving-hours 24/7.


End file.
